


A Silent Trap

by teachair (halavana1)



Series: Gold for a Ring [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 01:31:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halavana1/pseuds/teachair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misgivings in Eregion about recent events.  Annatar gives counsel, concealing his true identity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Silent Trap

Celebrimbor strolled the avenues and lanes of Ost-in-Edhel, admiring the works of his people. Graceful towers rose high above well situated homes and work places, all built of variously colored marble and limestone quarried by the dwarves of Khazad-dum, embellished with wrought iron and hardwood carved shutters. Gardens with trees of all varieties loved by the elves, from all regions, housed song birds who sang on request. Fountains with falls lent their beauty and music for all to stop and admire. Bells peeled the hour in bright, clear tones. For those seeking solitude, quiet places along the city walls furnished with comfortable benches and beautiful statues provided refuge from the city’s bustle. Ost-in-Edhel was truly a wonder and Celebrimbor was proud of the city he founded.  
A messenger from Galadriel joined step with him, delivered his message, received his response and departed. Galadriel and Celeborn ruled the vast open spaces of Eregion. Now, through subtlety, they sought control of his city. Galadriel only asked for a room to hold court, as if he did not comprehend what her small request meant. He chuckled at the thought. He loved her, had lived unwed on account of his unrequited love, pouring his strength into works of metal and stone rather than children. Few requests would he deny her, but she had no part in the construction or governing of his city. Ost-in-Edhel was his domain. He would not surrender those reins for any love, and certainly not to the wife of such a one as Celeborn, who spoke with such disdain of all the lineage of Fëanor. How chigrined had the Silver Tree appeared when Celebrimbor revealed his family to him. And they, Celeborn and Galadriel, showed the nerve to request an audience chamber? Celebrimbor chuckled at his courteous, but final, response. They were free to hold court outside the gate of their choice, but he knew of no room free for such use, although they were welcome to visit him at his hall. Humblest apologies. Was there no wooded glade suited to their purposes?  
Passing elves and dwarves greeted him as he made his way toward the main smithy where he intended to meet his cousin. Though Celebrimbor was counted the greatest of elven smiths remaining on Middle-earth, Morfindel had a knack with bells that surpassed him, and he rather enjoyed allowing his cousin this small concession. Nine times in ten, he bested Morfindel in feats of smith craft; he begrudged not Morfindel the domain of bell-craft.  
They were going to confer with several dwarves and other elves upon the construction of a series of walkways between three high towers which commanded views of the mountains and the river and discuss the forging of a few more large bells. He would meet his cousin at the smithy and together they would join the others in the treasury. As he approached the square upon which the main door opened, he heard voices raised in alarm and fear.  
“Mori, you look like a refugee from Angband,” said Celebrimbor, his voice a tone of gentle reproof at first sight of his cousin. It was considered unseemly for an elven smith to appear in public wearing only smithy leathers. They always threw on a robe or tunic before going out into the street and though Morfindel had often rolled his eyes and sneered at what he considered excessive decorum and nonsense, it was uncharacteristic of him to forget. In truth, Morfindel did look a fright and his eyes bore the haunted look of a wild animal just barely escaped from a deadly trap. The palms of his hands were torn and bleeding, and his right palm was also burned, as was his left wrist. Another burn like a hand print wrapped his throat and several bystanders speculated that he had burned himself there, but others said that was impossible, for the burns did not match. He struggled to keep on his feet between two elves who supported him, with great effort trying to speak, but only sibilant whispers did he utter. When Celebrimbor came to his aid, Morfindel collapsed into his arms, trembling like a newborn. He kept trying to tell them something but could say only “ssssssaaa...” They were troubled to see one of their most loved smiths in such distress, but knew not what to do for him, thinking an accident had befallen him in the smithy. But what kind of accident could rob him of his ability to speak? Healers were called immediately and they were even more troubled.  
“If I did not know it were impossible, I would say someone has cast a spell upon him,” ventured one.  
“You may have been close to the mark when you mentioned Angband, Celebrimbor,” suggested another, “for I fear there may be an emissary of the enemy among us. Perhaps we should seek Annatar’s advice.”  
At this, Morfindel summoned all his strength and barked a single “No!” then fell exhausted against his cousin.  
“Be still,” said Celebrimbor as he supported his kinsman, determining for himself that he would find Annatar and discover why Morfindel should so adamantly rejected his counsel. He commanded that a litter be brought to carry Morfindel to his apartment. Lachnir, Morfindel’s eldest son who stood close by watching his father with grave concern, ran to fetch one. He returned swiftly and together he and his son, Ormal, carried Morfindel to their home. Celebrimbor watched them until they were out of sight, then turned toward the smithy.  
“We will meet at another time,” he said to those with whom he had come to confer who came out to see what caused the ruckus in the square. They quickly nodded assent and withdrew.  
Standing in the main doorway and gazing about from one side to the other, Celebrimbor could see the place was not as Morfindel usually left it. In the main room, a sword lay shattered on the floor, broken in three pieces from the point up. A pock mark on the wall about chest level indicated whence had come several bits of stone scattered nearby. A trail of dark drops led toward the small door used for carrying in water and fuel and taking out ash from the furnace. Two other swords were across the room from each other, their tangs marked with the same color as the drops on the floor. A work bench was overturned and its content scattered. Celebrimbor stepped inside and inspected each of the other rooms but found nothing missing or out of place. He was standing contemplating possibilities when he heard a step behind him and turned. It was only Annatar, who also gazed in concern at the disarray of the smithy. Neither spoke for some time until Annatar broke the silence.  
“My friend, I found this,” he said, extending his hand holding a ring. “Is it not your cousin’s?”  
Celebrimbor took it from him and looked at it closely. “It is. He never takes it off. Where did you find it?”  
“Yes, it is strange. I also have noticed how he always wears it. Should I return it to him?”  
“No,” responded the elf lord. “I will give it to him myself when I go to see about his welfare. He wishes not to see you.”  
“His welfare?” repeated Annatar, his face a confused, somber mask of sadness. “He wishes not to see me? Why? What...?”  
“I know not, and hoped you might tell me. Did you have a quarrel? My cousin can be quite high strung and headstrong. His opinions are set and he changes them for no one other than his lady, and in that he is much like our grandfather. Why would he wish not to see you?”  
Annatar shook his head in bewilderment.  
“Well, it is clear he suffered some mishap here in the smithy,” said the elf lord.  
Annatar gazed about the room, noting the three swords on the floor and offered a suggestion. “Perhaps he was testing the blades. You know how strenuously he tries a sword before counting it worthy of finishing. Surely he can tell you...”  
“He cannot speak.”  
“What?! Not at all?”  
“Only with the most strenuous effort, and then only a single word or syllable.” Celebrimbor then described his kinsman’s injuries to Annatar, who thoughtfully listened, then step by step offered a plausible explanation as to how each injury could have happened, moving from place to place in the smithy as he did so. As the elf listened, Morfindel’s ring became warm in his hand, and he felt a tingle up his arm, but thought nothing of it, being more concerned for his cousin. He merely put the ring in a pocket of his tunic. Once Celebrimbor was satisfied with Annatar’s scenario, together they set out to visit Morfindel. When they arrived at his dwelling, Lachnir and Ormal met them at the door.  
“Begging your pardon, my lords,” said Lachnir with his son standing quietly beside him, “but my father wishes not to see anyone just now. He is very weary and sore.”  
“Did he tell you this?” asked Celebrimbor hopefully. “Can he now speak?”  
“No, he is not yet able to speak, but makes signs with his hands.”  
“Well, we will leave him in peace for the night and hope he is much improved in the morning,” said Celebrimbor. “But might I at least return his ring that he dropped somewhere? Never have I known him to be without it.” The elf lord took the ring from his pocket and held it out on his palm.  
Lachnir looked surprised at the ring in Celebrimbor’s hand and stepped aside for him to pass, but blocked Annatar. “I beg your forgiveness, Annatar.” He turned toward Celebrimbor, saying, “I beg of you, return the ring and depart quickly. He has only begun to rest.”  
The elf lord nodded and moved forward into the apartment, noting with some distaste the untidiness of smithy leathers draped over a chair at the foot of the bed with a pair of boots collapsed on the floor. Morfindel lay on his back on a narrow couch, his eyes closed. His children had dressed him in a linen tunic and drawn a light blanket over him. His left wrist and throat were wrapped in soft cloth bandages.  
An elf maiden, Thistledown, Morfindel and Lurisa’s youngest daughter, sat as a sentry on a low stool beside her father’s bed. She glanced at Celebrimbor but said nothing, neither rising nor changing her vigilant posture, carefully wrapping her father’s right hand, flexible metal splints along the top of each finger to prevent them from healing crooked. Celebrimbor observed silently each movement of her hands, nodding approval at her skill. Dark haired, though not the blue black of her father, Thistledown bore the facial features of both parents. Porcelain skin, grey eyes with a hint of green, the set of her mother’s mouth, her father’s sharp glance, a true daughter of the Noldor. Since her arrival, she had delighted all the inhabitants of Eregion, elf, dwarf and mortal. And to think that if her parents had followed his advice, she would never have been born. One can not be right about all things, he thought and turned his attention back to his cousin.  
“Mori,” said Celebrimbor and his kinsman awoke with a start and sat up. “Here, Annatar found your ring and wished to return it to you.” He approached the couch, extending his hand with the ring held in two fingers.  
Morfindel gazed at it uncomprehendingly at first, then his eyes filled with horror. He kicked Celebrimbor’s hand away, sending his covers fluttering to the floor and the ring flying into a corner where it ricocheted off a wall, bounced on the stone tile and lay still. “Mori,” began Celebrimbor sternly, but Morfindel was not looking at him, or heeding him in any way. Rather he stared at the ring, slowly edging backward into a far corner where he crouched, wrapping his arms around his legs like a frightened child. Thistledown moved as if to retrieve the ring but Morfindel leaped over the couch and grabbed her around the waist, refusing to let her go until she submitted to being restrained.  
“Ada, what is the matter? It’s only your ring, is it not?” asked Thistledown.  
In a hoarse whisper Morfindel slowly rasped, “No, it, is, not.”  
“Lachnir!” cried the elf maiden to her brother as she put forth all her strength to keep her father from falling.  
Hearing his sister’s voice, Lachnir sprang into the room and together the siblings guided Morfindel’s slow collapse onto the couch where they laid him out and covered him again.  
“My Lord Celebrimbor,” said Lachnir turning to his kinsman imploringly. “Let us alone a while with our father. Something is gravely amiss.”  
Celebrimbor nodded agreement. “It is indeed, for Mori to renounce his ring or even refuse to allow his children to touch it.” The elf lord strode to the ring and picked it up, returning it to his pocket. “Should he wish for it, I will place it in the treasury.” So saying he departed, motioning for Annatar to follow. Ormal shut the door behind them.  
Celebrimbor led Annatar to the treasury where he sent swift runners to call the counsel of mirdain to an emergency meeting. When they arrived he showed them Morfindel’s ring and asked them to discern any fault in it that might cause its owner to reject it. As it passed from hand to hand, each smith mentioned its warmth and the sensation of numbness or tingling he felt, but such sensations were not uncommon among rings of power as they accustom themselves to a new user. Annatar stood aside, watching each smith with avid curiosity.  
“If there is no fault in the ring, perhaps Morfindel suffers from some malady of the mind,” suggested one.  
“Or there is an emissary of the enemy among us,” ventured Annatar. “I would volunteer to search him out if you wish.”  
“I think we should pursue other options first,” said Celebrimbor and Annatar bowed, stepping back as the elf lord continued. “We will send a messenger to Dor Luin. Perhaps Morfindel’s people can shed light on their lord’s distress. I also will speak with Lachnir, Ormal and Thistledown.”  
By now Morfindel’s ring returned to Celebrimbor and he placed it in a chest with eight other rings of lesser power and snapped the lock shut.


End file.
